


a sea of bloodied water

by lostinthefire



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drugged Sex, Flashbacks, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Sexual Violence, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4368251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthefire/pseuds/lostinthefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He dreams of gasping, of gulping down as much oxygen as he can manage.  He dreams of a barely detectable scent in the air that tells him there's something being pumped into the room and he dreams of it being far too late to do anything about it, because he'd been greedy, he'd been needing to breathe and now he would pay the price<br/>He dreams and his body aches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a sea of bloodied water

**Author's Note:**

> Although I am technically doing hc_bingo (prompt: drugged), I'm not shooting for bingos so much as it's just me trying to use the cards to write more in general, so this is a part of that. 
> 
> In other news, unbeta-ed and Steve and Bucky are still eating my brain.

He dreams.

He dreams of water in his lungs and gasping for air when someone releases him. He dreams of gasping, of gulping down as much oxygen as he can manage. He dreams of a barely detectable scent in the air that tells him there's something being pumped into the room and he dreams of it being far too late to do anything about it, because he'd been greedy, he'd been needing to breathe and now he would pay the price.

He dreams and his body aches.

He wakes up in pain, with a heat between his legs and the gut-wrenching shame that had so often come with it. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, to pull himself out of piecemeal memories and realize he's somewhere safe, somewhere that isn't a cold dark cell with people he had never wanted near him.

But some part of his mind stays there, stays in that dark place as he gulps at the air, tries to remind himself he's safe for now.

But memories are swimming in his head and the ghost of old touches send him shivering with a need he feels nothing but shame over.

He doesn't want this, he never wanted this, not once, but they made him. They made sure that he didn't have a choice, that he would need them if he wanted any sort of relief.

Bucky's hands go behind his back as he leans on the headboard of the bed. His eyes are closed and fuck, he's trying to open them, to get out of this hellish sea in his head but his lids feel heavy, his hands are tied behind his back. He...

He's not where he should be.

In his memory, the languages they speak are jumbled, some German, some Russian, some others mixed in there for good measure. It doesn't matter how they're saying it though, he knows the words they use, he understands every one.

They call him whore, or bitch, or toy. They tell him exactly what they are going to do to him, how they aren't going to let him come until they are good and done with him and only then, maybe, will they let him feel some kind of release.

They say it in his ear, whisper it like it's a secret, like it will be a moment shared just between himself and whatever person decided to use him this time.

But there's no intimacy to it. He's fucked up against a wall, into a floor, against a table. He's left bleeding and in pain and they won't ever be done with him. When they employ the gas, it's always more than one person who wants to have their way with him.

He chokes down cries as people shove themselves down his throat and he takes it. Every single fucking time he takes it because he can't not, he can't refuse and he's on his knees, tears in his eyes because breathing is hard all over again and why does it feel like he's always gasping, like he's never getting enough air?

Because breathing is a luxury for him and he's not offered such things easily anymore. He has to work for them and that means letting them do what they want to him, letting them turn him into a waste basket for all the things they want to do.

And he knows, knows more than anything that if he fights, he loses. Knows that it's the chair, the tank, the freezing water, the shocks, the beatings the...

His whole body is aching and he's making soft noises that he doesn't actually realize he's doing until they start getting louder.

And while it doesn't pull him out of his memories, it reminds him there's a surface he can try to reach, that he can maybe swim upwards out of the dark, bloodied ocean that he's in and be free, at least for a little while.

Bucky sinks his teeth into his lip, biting down hard enough to draw blood. Sometimes it helps, the physical pain of the act bringing him out of himself and into the world. Sometimes the taste of blood bring him down, down, down further and away from the surface.

His eyes fly open, his heart pounds in his chest and he feels sick to his stomach. His eyes turn downward and he sees that he's still hard and it makes him feel like the floor has dropped out from under him.h.

He didn't fucking want it, he tells himself. He didn't and the fact that he's having this reaction means nothing.

But there are dark thoughts whispering in his head, the remnants of the memories, telling him otherwise. Telling him that he was such a good little dog, he did exactly what they wanted him to. He behaved so well, he had to have liked it, he had to have anted it. 

His hands shake and that doesn't help the pain coursing through his entire body. He doesn't know what to do, the pressure in his belly almost becoming too much and fuck, he is going to have to do something about it.

And there's a part of him that's laughing, a bitter, angry laugh, because even now, even when he's far away from them, he's still obeying their old commands. Steve likes to tell him he's gotten away from them, that he was stronger than they ever were but he can't fucking believe that when he's siting here, hand wrapped around his own cock, remembering all the shit they did to him and getting off on it.

He doesn't find himself drowning in the memories as his hand moves, rather, it's like a movie, like he's watching some film that he happened to star in. He watches them fuck him, watches them shove things inside him, watches them treat him like he's a not human but rather, a hole to be used.

Before he knows it, he's choking down a moan, coughing and sputtering as he comes all over his hand, hod body shaking for a a very different reason now.

He feels sick. He feels fucking sick and horrible and like he's goddamned trash. They were right to treat him how they did, they were right to use him because he wanted it, he wanted to be fucked and broken and and theirs.

He wanted it and the proof is right in front of him.

When he actually does vomit, he's not surprised really. He's just that disgusting, not even the things inside him want to stay there. 

A part of him knows he should clean up, should get to his feet, strip the bed and clean himself off. He shouldn't leave this for Steve to find, shouldn't make him have to deal with this, but hid body is heavy and tired and he doesn't really think he can drag himself to the bathroom, nonetheless to do anything else.

So he just lays down amidst the mess the sour smell of vomit and the taste of bile on his tongue the last thing he registers before he falls asleep.

~

Steve finds him when he gets back from running and groceries. He doesn't hear him come in, but Bucky stirs when Steve's hand brushes against his forehead. He doesn't say anything, just opens his eyes for a moment to see that it really is Steve.

He's looking at him with nothing but concern and maybe a little fear. Steve wasn't on his knees but when he responds, he drops down to the floor, looking at Bucky with that expression and making him feel so much shame all over again.

"Bucky what--"

"It's nothing," he says, voice still thick with sleep. "It's nothing, really. It was...I didn't feel well. I'm sorry, I should've gotten this--I should have cleaned up."

He doesn't notice as his voice shakes but Steve certainly does, even though he doesn't say anything about it. Instead he just takes up Bucky's hand, gently pulling him into a sitting position as he gets to his feet.

"Come on," he says, voice soft. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay?'

"I don't need you to help. I..." He trails off, unsure of what to say now. Steve just shakes his head. 

"I want to help. Let me help, Buck. Please?"

He's not in a position to deny anyone anything and whether Steve knows that or not, he can't say. So he agrees, getting to his feet and letting Steve lead him into the bathroom and take a washcloth to him.

"You don't have to tell me what happened," Steve starts in as he cleans Bucky off. "Just...Is there anything I can do?"

"No," he says. "You don't have to--."

"Bucky."

He looks down, shame settling in all over again. He's trying to not let him do what he wants him and he has no right to do that. Even if its just information, even if it's something he should technically be allowed to keep private. 

He was never allowed such things before, it's hard to remember that he can have them now.

"I woke up," Bucky explains, his words coming out slow and almost dazed. "And I wasn't here."

"Where were you?"

"I was back on one of the bases. I was back with..." He finds himself unsure of what to call them, his own mind not letting him spit out one of the myriad curses he would normally use.

Steve nods though and sits on the tub next to him as he tries to continue.

"I...They used to have this gas? They'd pump it into the room and I'd just....I'd get really hot. It didn't matter what was going on, I just wanted to be fucked by somebody."

He swallows, not looking at Steve. "I wanted it and they knew it."

Steve's mouth is in a tight line and his fists are curled and pressed hard into his knees. He looks like he's ready to punch someone and Bucky is half expecting it to be him.

"They....Did a lot of stuff. But I didn't fight it. I wanted it. I needed it. I never said no, even if I wanted to, I never said no."

Bucky's breathing is strained and he feels like a hand is closing around his throat. He's waiting for Steve to say something, to get pissed at him, to tell him he was the fucking trash everyone else knew he was.

But Steve doesn't do any of that. Instead, he takes a deep breath, then carefully asks, "Can I touch you?"

"Yeah."

"Are you able to say anything but yes right now?"

"I don't know."

Steve gets to his feet and moves around Bucky, careful not to touch him. "I'm going to fix up the bed," he tells him. "Then you're gonna lay down for while, okay?"

He nods, moving from the toilet to the ground as he waits. The ground feels safer, like he belongs there, rather than anywhere higher up.

Steve comes back for him a few minutes later, reaching down and offering him a hand then starting to pull it back before Bucky reaches out and takes it. Getting to his feet proves to be harder than he thought and he's grateful for Steve being able to steady him.

"Just lay down," Steve says. "I'm staying right here, I'm just gonna be on the floor."

Bucky wants to tell him to not, to be on the bed, to not turn him away like this. He doesn't have the words though and just moves to curl against the edge of the bed under the heavy blankets and stare at the wall.

Steve settles down in front if him, facing the bed. Watching him for a few moments, he picks his words carefully when he speaks next. "I could be up there instead, I don't have to touch you if you would rather I didn't, but I could get in bed."

Bucky nods and Steve gets to his feet, settling in next to him but not too close. Initially Bucky didn't know whether he would take him up on touching but he finds his body is pulled to him like a magnet. He wants Steve near him, wants something good to touch him after it feels like nothing but his own filthy thoughts have been around him today.

Steve wraps his arms around him, holding him close but not tight. He can get away whenever he wants, but he doesn't want to leave, not now and not ever. He wants to stay here and pretend this is where he's always been.

"I know i"m going to have to say it again," Steve starts, words said carefully into his ear. "But you didn't ask for it. You didn't deserve it. What they did was wrong, fucked up, horrible and cruel. You didn't deserve any of it, Bucky. I promise you."

He stays silent because he can't bring the words to come to his mouth, they keep getting caught somewhere between his brain and his lips and he's just still too tired to try.

"You're mine," Steve continues. "You're mine and not theirs. You're mine, Bucky and I'm telling you the truth."

He nods, swallowing hard and taking in a breath. "I'm yours," he mutters back. "I'm yours."

"Right," Steve agrees, one hand moving up and down Bucky's side. "Try and sleep a little more, I'll wake you up if I need to."

His eyes are heavy already and he feeling of Steve's hand on his skin is doing nothing to help the desire to just sleep forever. So, instead of fighting it, he nods, curling in on himself a little more, and letting himself fall into a darkened sea of dreams.

But there's no blood in the waves this time and the water is calm.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me elsewhere:  
> [My DW](http://rootsofthestories.dreamwidth.org) (which I use regularly)  
> [My Tumblr](http://analtarofstars.tumblr.com/) (which I am very rarely on)  
> [My Twitter](http://twitter.com/harvestgraces) (which I am on at random)


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